Page 53 of The Merry Matchmaker

He shrugged out of his coat, tossed it over a kitchen chair and took a cookie. It was Kaitlyn’s recipe Jenn was using—he knew that—but the cookie didn’t taste as good as Kaitlyn’s had.

“How is it?” Jenn asked.

“Good,” he lied.

“Santa didn’t read my letter yet,” Corky informed him.

Griffin looked to Jenn. “You looked on the site.”

“What could I do? He asked.”

Griffin ruffled his son’s hair. “Don’t worry. Santa and I have got it handled.”

Corky bit the side of his lip and went back to squirting frosting on a gingerbread boy. “I just want a mommy.”

“That’s a mighty fine-looking gingerbread boy you’re making,” Jenn said to distract him, and Corky grinned and took a big bite.

Griffin helped his sister finish cleaning, then she said goodbye to her nephew, who was settled at the table with milk and one final cookie. Griff walked with her to the door and stepped outside with her on the porch.

“If I hear that he wants a mommy one more time, my head’s going to come off,” he said.

“Remember how persistent you were about getting a dog?” Jenn reminded him.

“Maybe I should get him a dog. That’s on par with getting him a mom,” Griff said bitterly.

“You know what I mean.”

He ran a hand over his hair. It was a good thing it was short. Otherwise, he’d start pulling it out.

“It’ll be okay, bro. Hang in there,” she said.

What else could he do? At least he had family helping him.

He thought again of how much time his sister was giving up to help with Corky, and a finger of guilt over losing it with her gave him a firm poke. One minute he was lighting into her, the next he was begging her to come to his rescue with cookies.

“Look, I’m sorry I lost it about the letter.”

“I know,” she said. “What can I say? Corky’s hard to say no to.”

Yes, he was.

“It’ll be okay,” Jenn added, and kissed him on the cheek.

He watched her go down the walk, not a care in the world, and half wished he could trade places.

But then he wouldn’t have his son. The boy may have been driving him to distraction, but he loved Corky and couldn’t imagine life without him.

All the houses on his street were lit up for the holidays. Except his. Maybe he should get something for the yard—a blow-up Frosty the Snowman or a gingerbread boy. Anything but a Santa.

Back inside the house, he pried his son away from the cookies and took him upstairs for a bath. Then it was time for bed and a story, followed by bedtime prayers.

Griff cringed when his son finished with, “And please don’t let Santa lose my letter.” Corky’s “amen” was emphatic, even as Griff was silently praying,Please let Corky forget about the letter.

That wasn’t going to happen, he knew it. He tucked his son in and amended his prayer.Help me.

Frankie and Brock sat in a booth in a dark corner of the town’s popular pub, far from the collection of tables by the bandstand where The Grizzly Boys would be playing vintage rock and roll later.

Carol’s Place had been around since the seventies. So had its decor. The walls were lined with fake wood paneling, the bar looked like an import from the set of a Western movie, and a couple of the bar stools had rips. But it was well stocked, and the bartenders knew every thirsty customer by name and what they preferred to drink.

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